Ways of Remembering
by Unmentionable Squick
Summary: In which Tezuka forgets a secret, Fuji has a job, and the world is left to contemplate the mysteries of candles in cold cereal.


A/N: [See end of fic]

Summery: In which Tezuka forgets a secret, Fuji has a job, and the world is left to contemplate the mysteries of candles in cold cereal.

Warning: Non-existant slash that's there only by virtue of anyone who's really looking. Yessuh.

Disclaimer: The boi's are not mine. Xx They belong to whoever ownz them.

Ways of Remembering

By LCM

They say the best way to hide your secrets is to keep them in broad daylight: display them in wide windows and wear them in your hair like ribbons 'til they become so common that no one can really spot them anymore. Like the faded stains near the bottom of your old grey t-shirt that everyone sees (almost daily) but are never noticed.

Tezuka has a secret.

He's kept it well and long and hard, in plain view for all his life and no one – not even his parents – seems to know. At first it was a small, subconscious thing, but then it grew, and grew, and grew, and grew some more 'til somewhere along the line it became very important indeed. So important that once he had the system down – the talk, the walk, the how to think and what to say –  Tezuka up and ate the key (metaphorically so to speak): went and forgot it himself. Not to imply that he cared to remember in the first place. And now he knows his secret the way everyone else does; which is to say, in the most obvious of fashions, and not at all.

Fuji found out completely by accident.

It was all because he works a mail route; which surprises most, but isn't really all that shocking when you think about it. After all, Fuji's a teenage boy with an expensive hobby and parent's only give so much…. Fuji doesn't hate his job, doesn't love it either, but money's a motivation good enough for anyone. Yes, even Fuji. And…oh…. Though he won't admit it, Fuji enjoys the way the occasional person finds out, how their eyes widen to disbelieving saucers as it hits them: Fuji. Has. A. **JOB**. Certainly, he'll deny taking joy in the apoplectic fit that follows. The neighbor's aunt once called him a "sadistic little weasel". But. Well. He'll deny that, too. Sweetness and light, that's our Fuji.

But that's beside the point.

What matters is that Fuji found out and Tezuka may very well never speak to his grandmother again, (though it really is all his fault, even aside from having the secret in the first place). He'd kept practice on late the night before, – to an extent as to be called grueling, even for him – and homework was heavy. Inconsequential events, in and of themselves, but together a volatile mix that resulted in Fuji _almost_ being late for work, and – though still accompanied by his ever present up-turned eyes and beaming smile – feeling very weasel-y indeed.

[In completely unrelated events, the post master would never discover who set off the building's fire alarm, – waking all residents in a miles radius – nor who spilled the office's one tank of coffee: the only caffeine source easily available at that hour of the morning. In the end, he put it down to accident. And who knows? Maybe it was.]

            That said, Tezuka's house is on the corner where Bunkamura Avenue crosses over with Mukokuseki Street. Fuji's knows this, though he's never been invited over. He doesn't think anyone has: 'inviting' is just not a Tezuka thing to do, the same way Fuji's too good mannered to trip anything so important as a fire switch.

But he knows anyway – has delivered letters there for two years now, _should_know – and when he opens the mail box to drop in the days delivery, he can't  _help_ but notice. In his defense, he truly can't – even aside from the fact that he's Fuji: it's orange and covered in images of puppies and glitter, reads:

Tezuka Kunimitsu

across the front, in blue-purple characters.

Understandable then, that it slipped from his grasp: the coloring enough to blind anyone. Can he be faulted for how it opened up when he reached to retrieve it? Of course not! Fuji doesn't do that kind of thing.

So you can see, Fuji found out completely by accident, and it really is all Tezuka's own fault. Perhaps the grandmother's too.

And it's not like it's that big a deal, really. Rather petty, as secrets go:

Tezuka is fourteen (fifteen, in a day).

No matter how painfully obvious, however, it still surprised Fuji. And you know how _nothing _surprises Fuji.

Despite the fact that it had to be true.

Why? Well.

Because everyone knows that Tezuka is 25 (never mind that he sits in an 8th grade class room), and if you want to make it anywhere in life, you'll realize he's 43. Certainly, the middle aged clerk at the corners drug store will tell you – blushing in a fashion that at some time in her life may have been referred to as 'prettily' – Tezuka must be (at least!)…_ legal_.

And foxy, clever Fuji never even made the connection 'til the birthday card fell open in his hands.

Tezuka is fourteen, only four months older than Fuji, and doesn't even remember. No one does, but some color-blind grandmother living off in America.

Fuji's not entirely sure what to do, but then it passes and he reopens the box, slips in the card and the rest of the mail and floats on to his next stop, glowing like the little sunbeam he is.

Big scary Tezuka, what do you know?

Fuji doesn't say anything later that day, and leaves with the others after practice.

Tezuka stays late – always does – and closes up shop, eyes widening when flowers and a tasteless stuffed dog (bearing an eerie resemblance to the puppies of the card) fall out of his locker. Tezuka can't help it, it's reflex, and he catches them both. Looks down and finds a note looking back at him.

"Happy 15th."

Unsigned, all in elegant penmanship: a secrets unpleasant reminder.

Tezuka's not sure why, but he smiles. Just a little bit mind you, and only at one corner of his mouth. Masochistic that way.

The next morning, he meets someone on his front porch, and asks if they want to come in and talk over breakfast. 

Fuji reminds him the reason he's there in the first place. He _is_ employed after all. And though he won't admit it, but he likes the way Tezuka's eyebrows raise – just a little – in surprise, and the small glint that flashes behind glasses-framed eyes. Fuji has a job. Tezuka's fifteen.

Just this one time.

And the two of them sit, soft talk of tennis over a birthday cake of cold cereal.

Who knew?

Fuji brought candles.

…oooO**O**Oooo…

A/N: Ok. I really hate how this came out. Deep burning, rage hate. XX It was a fun idea, but slaughtered. Maybe that's because it's -checks watch- 2:30 in the morning. Gods, I need to see more then 10 episodes of this show. I massacred characterization. hides If it doesn't rip my eyes out this morning, I suppose I'll repost and try again. Maybe. Oo Help?

Nya And fic is for the Chev. It's supposed to be T/F…but it ended up crap. glomps Darling, I am truly sorry. O.o I don't know what's wrong with me, perhaps it's fending off these damn surgeons. I'll attempt to fix it for you. cuddles Are the ubercoolness. runs off to bed, and then to editing, and then Kam!fic  arg melts into puddle

**NOTE**: Thanks upon the Middyness, who informed me that Fuji doesn't call 'la Tezuka "captain", which I previously had him saying in the note. O.o Nyay For Chev!

R/R


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